Chapter 21 – The Lumber Yard

Madder Vermillion’s feet hurt. He tried retying his boots and massaging his feet, but that didn’t really work all that well. They still throbbed every time they landed. It was not a good day to be Madder.

In better news, he ripped off the torn sleeve of his coat, giving him only one full one. It looked good. It really did. Now he just needed a new undershirt, preferably black, to go underneath it and he might have some of his style back. The exposed arm was nice and all, but it just didn’t feel right. The tank top he had on just didn’t do a good enough job of being full cover. It couldn’t pull the weight of a full length jacket sleeve. It tried though, and Mads appreciated it.

The forest was thick outside the barrier. The footpath finally diverged from the lorry one. He saw a few more order vans zoom overhead, but they paid him no mind. He was far enough away from it all to be inconsequential, a nameless face in an unending stream of people moving from one place to another at their whim. The Order, try as they might, could never stop people from just walking away.

He still smelled of smoke, despite his efforts to air himself out. It probably didn’t help that he spent last night around a campfire with a bunch of travelers. That part was always so much fun though. They even had two kids trying to tag one another as everyone swapped stories. It felt right, natural even. And it is always fun to be the type of adult that gives kids sharp objects the play with. Points added for the sharp object in question also being on fire. They were good kids and the parents only hated him a little bit.

“How long have you been with the Guild,” asked the man at his side. He shrugged his pack a little, jostling the tower of goods and threatening the send the whole thing crashing down. He was an expert though, with some careful swaying of his own, the thing steadied and became as stable as a rock.

“Whole life,” Madder said, “Parents are members and that automatically gets you in. I’ve been doing the actual jobs for about 5 years now. Before that was the apprenticing bit, and before that I was helping run the Hall at Sunshine. And by that I mean, scrubbing dishes. How long you been a courier, Moarte?”

The man’s hands and his callous spoke to many years, just as many years as the lines on his face. His sparse gray hair spoke to more, but at this point Madder’s mathematical abilities were failing him. Just better to ask and get a full number and put the matter to rest.

“I don’t even remember anymore. The miles and the cargo all start bleeding into each other after a while. I don’t even remember where I was born, can you believe it? I was probably born into it, same as you. Had a pack and a map in my hand as soon as I fell outta my momma.”

He gave a good harsh chuckle, sending the leather flaps on his neck fluttering. Madder preferred not to think about that and he preferred not to think about the fact that his travelling buddy thought about falling out of his momma. No one should think about that. Or at least no one should be thinking about it, if it involved falling.

“I’ve been everywhere,” Moarte said, “It’s been a while since I’ve been to Mawly, but I’m betting it hasn’t changed. You ever been?”

“No, actually,” said Madder, “Never. I usually hang around the Sunshine hall. This one just happened to be closer to my last job.”

“You need to travel more, Mads. Never been to Mawly, never been to Isle DePlanta, I bet, only been around your hometown. See the world. It’s always out there.”

Madder shrugged. He did need to get out more. That would probably be good for him. DePlanta had been on the list for a while, but there were never any jobs there and he couldn’t bring himself to go where there was no work. Chiptown was a big step for him and he was proud of what he did, but as it was, he still needed to see the world. The forest around him was beautiful, he had to admit.

Gaps appeared in the curtain drawn around them. Stumps, some with tools still in them, made the smile of the landscape gap tooth. Already, new growths had started, pale imitations of what once was and will be again. Green and brown and blue, the world was green and brown and blue.

They heard the lumber yard before they saw it. The harsh whines of the motorized saws could be heard for miles around, if the trees weren’t in the way to spare the pain they felt. With the stumps not able to do the task, the noise won out. Moarte pulled a set of earplugs from the pouch at his waist and pressed them firmly into place. Madder had to make do with covering his ears. It didn’t really help. His companion rolled his eyes and shook his head. Green, his friend was green too.

Smoke drifted over the treetops, small towers of dust and ash swirling in the wind, only for the sky to swallow them whole. The barrier widened and the gates of the lumberyard appeared. It was not like Chiptown’s, where metal arches scanned anything and everything so much as following the suggestion of going inside, where men with guns stood at attention, although their actual attentions was something hard to verify. Here, a simple wooden gate with a two beams crossing in the center, and a man leaning against the frame with chaw stuck in his gob were the only things keeping outsiders out.

Moarte flashed a piece of rope that might have been his courier card. Madder flashed his chain that actually was his guild card. The gatekeeper didn’t care. He spat on the ground in a growing puddle by his side. He nodded and went back to thinking and chewing. Madder, always the gentleman, opened the door and let his new friend into the compound. He probably said a thank you, but he couldn’t make it out all that well.

Madder peeled away to wander through the bustling camp. He offered for Moarte to stop by the guild hall and grab a drink with him. A courier was always full of good stories, and it was always at least worth the invite to hear what dumb stuff they had to carry on their backs. People always wanted the dumbest things. The camp itself was in full swing. Massive lories thundered across the wide gaps between buildings, full of lumber. The mills shrieked as they tore everything down to size. Men and women, scarred and dirtied, full of grit and determination that came with any job meant to tear at the muscles, walked to and fro, calling out over the din of the saw blades. Madder fed off the activity, the mere sight of people doing things, strenuous, hard tasks put a bounce in his step. A man with a permanent scowled carved on his face shot a death glare at him when Madder waved a jolly hello. People did not like being waved at jovially. People wanted to be left and alone and go do their job and not have to deal with stupid kids prancing about like they owned the place.

The guild hall lay just beyond what passed as a main street in this place. Paved roads were a little too much to ask for, but sturdy sidewalks were plentiful. A wooden structure with a ‘G’ made of metal chains hanging from the roof, windows shuttered closed and the gentle roar of people milling about inside. At least, assuming that this one was the same as all the others on the inside, and going by the outside, it certainly would be. The door opened with a gentle creak with no chance of combating the saws and the machine.

It did, however, filter in over the cacophony once the door was closed. Suddenly, Madder’s ears were like bass drums pounding in his skull. He needed to start taking jobs at less noisy places. Sunshine was quiet. New Lilac was quiet. Chiptown and the Million Acre Wood Lumber Yard were not, in any sense of the word. The scent of wood pulp was inescapable, even as the scents of beer and spirits filtered in.

The hall was mostly empty, a handful of patrons already positioned at prime seats in the corners, hidden in shadows. One woman, deep purple hood pulled over her eyes, played with a dagger, digging the tip into the grain of her table. That was not nice. These were good tables and they deserved to be treated with a modicum of dignity and respect. Madder appreciated a good brooding, but a harmful brooding was just rude. And the knife was a clear sign to stay away. Hands in his pockets, soaking in the hunting trophies mounted on the walls, he approached the bartender and flashed his chain. The mustached man nodded, twirling the strands of hair into a neat curl, bouncing on his face.

“I need a workshop and a room,” he said, “I’m also expecting someone in the next few days. They’ll probably ask for me. A woman, short, name’s Lily.”

“I’ll keep my eye out. Any requests for the workshop?”

“Any detnium, if you got it. Got some ideas for the sword.”

“It will be delivered. Elevators are at the end of the hall. Rooms are on the third floor, work space in the basement.”

Madder nodded and the bartended handed him a small chip. The space between the wooden planks lit up underneath his feet, flowing down through the common room, past the knife nut in the corner. Madder walked on, shoulders limbered up in anticipation. These types were always trouble. The only sound in the room where is footsteps and the gentle scratch of metal on wood.

Just as he was about to pass the woman’s table, a knife, the knife appeared in the grain of the wall, shaking from the impact of its short flight. He let the sigh out and turned. She wasn’t looking at him.

“Whatever stupid pageantry you want to pull,” he said as his hand moved towards his sword, “I’ve seen it before.”

The woman withdrew her hands back into her cloak. Madder’s hand found his sword.

“…um,” she whispered.

“What was that?” he said. He twisted and a demon roar reverberated through the room. The bartender reached behind the counter.

“Detnium,” she said as her syllables shook, “The knife is made of detnium. You can have it. I have more. I’m sorry.”

Madder’s hand fell to his side and he looked to the knife and back at the woman. She was shrinking back into the booth farther and farther, making herself as small as possible. He just realized how small she was. He laughed and laughed and laughed.

“We’re good, we’re good,” he said to the barkeep, “Misunderstanding.”

The man relaxed and let his hands come back to view. Madder sucked in a deep pocket of air, and rested his hands on his hips.

“Thank you for the knife, and I’m sorry for blowing up at you Miss…”

“Penelope Hawkbill.”

“Miss Hawkbill. I just have to say, don’t throw knives at people. It’s rude.”

“I know. It just, kinda, slipped.”

“Be more careful, please. Not for me, but for the next person you decide to help. I’m going to drop my stuff off. Do you mind if I join you for a drink or two.”

Penelope looked up and let her hood fall. She had black hair, the blackest he had ever seen, a sharp nose cut from granite and violet watery eyes. She nodded with enough vigor to send her hood back in place. Another knife appeared in her hand and started making carvings in the wood again. She was making birds.

Madder pulled the knife out. She really got it in their good and deep. Newbies always were a testy bunch, but he wasn’t exactly the best person to criticize about that sort of thing. He pocketed the blade and followed the lights. He couldn’t wait to take off his shoes.

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